Pete Does Central Division
by Georgshadow
Summary: SATIRE. Given the chance, some people would slash Malloy with anybody. But some pairings should never see the light.


**A/N:** The following is a set of vignettes featuring satirical examples of semi-plausible but absolutely dreadful Adam-12 pairings. They all feature Malloy, and if this goes over well, I might do a set with Reed. I admit that I _do_ ship and write Malloy/Reed, but deep down inside, I think it's a pretty funny pairing, too. Slash writers are crazy, okay? That being said, I warn you now: these are intended to be humorous and weird/creepy but I really have no shame, so they might offend the faint of heart. Always keep your defibrillator handy!

ALSO- Apparently M-rated stories don't get any traffic in this fandom because, well, there aren't any. But I'm such a little maverick and I'd like to say that I have the first and only M-rated Adam-12 fic on the site.

If you review, let me know which one of these you like the best, or rather, which one you hate the least.

* * *

><p><strong>Pitching Tents<strong>

If Reed hadn't insisted, there was no way he would've dreamt of going camping on his days off. Why drive all the way out to the middle of nowhere and pretend to be homeless when there was a perfectly fine pool right by his apartment where he could waste his time? But Reed promised he'd make it worth his while, and when Brinkman overheard their conversation and offered to lend them his own tent, there was no way he could back down.

And so, there they were, sweating their balls off in the dry California mountains. When evening fell and they grew tired of hammering warm beer and swatting horseflies, they stumbled lazily into the tent. Malloy barely got a chance to zip up the door before Reed stopped him.

"Pete? You wanna go check the fire pit again?" he asked.

"What for?"

"You saw those fire danger signs on the way up, didn't you?" He unzipped the door and gestured for him to get out. "Wouldn't you feel guilty if you burned down the whole hillside? It'll only take a minute."

Malloy rolled his eyes and snagged the lantern, muttering all the way to the fire pit about young people and entitlement. He dumped another coffee can of dirt over the already cold embers and stormed back. When he unzipped the door and peered in, Reed was waiting for him. The lantern light flickered over his now nude body, and Malloy's eyes came to rest on what he had balanced on his taught pectorals: a jar of marshmallow fluff and a can of chocolate syrup.

"Smores?" he pondered aloud. "What about the graham crackers?"

"What do you think?" Reed asked, licking his lips.

Malloy chuckled. "I think Bob's not gonna lend us his tent anymore."

* * *

><p><strong>Hands Behind Your Head, Feet Apart<strong>

"You know, Officer Reed, between you and Malloy, there ain't no cops I trust more," Teejay said, leaning over the restaurant counter at his new job as they watched Malloy strut off to the men's room.

"Malloy says you two have known each other for a long time," the eager probationer replied.

"We go back a long ways," Teejay mused. "I 'member the first time he frisked me."

"Oh yeah?" Reed asked, interested.

"Yeah. When he was done, I turned right around and got sick all over the evidence. Haha, and his uniform!" Teejay shook his head nostalgically. "Boy, I was really messed up back then."

"Sounds like it," Reed said. "How 'bout some more coffee?"

"Sure," Teejay said. He wandered off and returned a moment later with a fresh pot. "You know," Teejay continued his thoughtful reminiscence as he refilled Reed's mug. "It wasn't long after that, Pete gave me my very first cavity search."

Reed sipped his coffee, puzzled. "But Teejay, patrol officers don't perform cavity searches."

The ex-hype smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Not when they're on duty, at least."

* * *

><p><strong>Mightier than WHAT?<strong>

"Nothin' classier than a fountain pen. Yessir, you start writing with one of these babies, everyone's gonna take you seriously."

"Nobody's ever gonna take _you_ seriously, Ed," Malloy grumbled, going over the report yet again. "Damn."

"What?"

"I can't figure out what Mac doesn't like about this," he said, throwing down the paper in frustration.

"Bet if you used this, he'd pin it on his corkboard to use as an example," Wells waved the stupid fountain pen in front of Malloy's face. "Look at it. It _radiates_ elegance."

"Don't you have someplace to be?" Malloy said. "Like a home? A bridge somewhere to sleep under?"

"Look, Pete, all I'm sayin' is, you have to try writing with this thing. You'll be blown away." With that, he grabbed hold of the pen's cap and yanked it off, and in doing so, tore the tip off the well, sending a spray of dark blue ink across the break room table, the unsatisfactory report, and Malloy.

With his eyes closed, Malloy balled his fists and counted to ten, and when he opened them again and saw the shit-eatin' grin on Wells' face, he had to go all the way to twenty.

"So? Are you blown away?" Wells asked, stifling laughter.

"I'm gonna blow _you_ away," Malloy threatened.

"Gee, Pete, I'm real sorry," Wells said.

"I'll give you something to be sorry about," Malloy said, not even trying to make his voice sound so low and dangerous.

Wells' smile faded. "You don't mean you're gonna make me…"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," Malloy said. "Clean up your mess, Ed."

Wells stared at the ground and obediently rose from his chair, crouching at Malloy's side.

"I sure hope that ink was non-toxic," he mumbled before he craned his neck to lick up the droplets on Malloy's chin.

* * *

><p><strong>And Next Time, A Donut Pun<strong>

"Do you remember I was a probationer, it was all I could do to keep your hands off of me," Malloy knew he was being rude, but he'd been looking forward to this all day, only to wind up disappointed yet again. "Guess I've lost that boyish charm."

"It's not you, Pete." Behind him he could hear Mac slapping himself in desperation. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"Let me help you," Malloy offered.

"_No_."

"Look, how 'bout _you_ try bending over this desk for a change?" Malloy suggested, losing interest.

"I don't do that," Mac scoffed.

"You don't do much of anything these days," Malloy whispered under his breath, vowing not to be so proud when he got around to taking the sergeants' exam.

"What did you say to me?"

"Nothin', Mac." He sighed and stood back up, crouching to pick up his pants from around his ankles. "I'm getting outta here."

"Oh no you're not," Mac snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him back down onto the desk, sending what was left of the reports fluttering to the floor. "Just be patient."

Malloy rolled his eyes, but leaned forward again, bracing himself on his forearms. "You know, if you can't get it up, I'm not even gonna bother-,"

Before he could finish, Mac interrupted him with the distinct sound of hocking and spitting, and a moment later, Malloy felt him start to push his way in.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "Damn," he mumbled. "You're _cold_."

"Don't think about it."

"You –ah—you've never been this hard –oof—in a long time."

"Told you I could do it."

"Yeah but," he arched his back, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can't even feel your…" he paused when he saw what Mac was really doing.

"You wouldn't shut up," Mac shrugged, shamelessly. "I just wanted to keep you happy."

"That's fine," Malloy sighed. "Just tell me next time you want to borrow my truncheon."

* * *

><p><strong>BONUS ROUND<strong>

The stink of sweat, seed, and cigarette smoke filled the cramped board room. Malloy leaned back against the wall, letting his tired arm rest despite the way the overly-tightened handcuff cut his wrist. It could've been worse—the radiator he was cuffed to could've been turned on. A nice burn on his arm to go with the weeping cuts and bruises on his backside would've been the perfect touch. Boy, was he going to be sore tomorrow.

"Does he get a shot at me, too?" he asked, nodding to the officer who sat quietly in the corner.

"Bill's just here to watch," the emotionless voice responded. "In a few minutes you'll have another round with me and then you're free to go."

"Sounds like a winner," he shifted again, this time so he could look at who he was speaking to. Getting an eyeful of the polished shoes, garter belts and dark, hairy legs, he couldn't help but grin. "So tell me: when did they start doing _this_ on the shooting review board?"

A puff of cigarette smoke blew in his face. "What shooting review board?" asked Sgt. Friday.

* * *

><p>THE INCIDENTS YOU HAVE JUST SEEN… aw, forget it.<p> 


End file.
